Fruit
by littlechivalry
Summary: A series of short stories describing the beginnings of Harry and Draco's relationship after Voldemort's untimely, and yet ultimately poetic, death. H/D AU, parody. Chapter 6 is up. This story is not dead.
1. Lemon

**Disclaimer: **I do not own this world, or these characters. I did have a bit of fun with them however.

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**Lemon--**

After Voldemort's death from an improperly refrigerated chicken salad sandwich eaten the summer after he rose, Harry's life had gone back to normal.

Or as normal as could be expected for someone who had killed the greatest evil of recent times with their family's slovenly eating habits. (Voldemort had been very smug when he snatched the food from Harry's hands just outside his home in Little Whinging. He didn't realize that Harry had only managed to salvage the sandwich because it was so off even Dudley refused to eat it, which was really saying something.)

Apparently the 'Power the Dark Lord knew not,' was how much Harry's relatives disliked him, or botulism.

When he returned to Hogwarts, Harry got to experience life without the threat of imminent death hanging over his head for the first time in years (including his time in Primary school, when Dudley made it his business to hold imminent death over Harry's head on a regular basis.)

He loved it. With more time to think he was able to focus on his class work and he found his grades steadily rising. Even in Potions, to Snape's obvious dismay. Every few days the Potions Master tried to find a reason to give him detention, but he was able to follow the intricate directions more carefully and even if his potions weren't as perfect as Hermione's or Malfoy's, they were still pretty good, and never exploded unless that was the intention.

He changed from Seeker to Beater on the Quidditch team because, even though he was enjoying a peaceful life he missed some of the danger he used to experience, and the position gave him all of the violence he desired with very little chance of a horrible, terrifying, torturous death.

All in all, his life was finally on track, and he couldn't be happier.

Well, maybe he could be a bit happier.

Most of his fame for being the Boy-Who-Lived had faded once the Wizarding World found out exactly how Voldemort died, and Harry made sure they would find out by trying to keep it a secret. Naturally, that tempted people to learn the truth on their own, and once they did, they left him alone. There was very little glamour in death by food poisoning after all.

While Harry relished the freedom he had now, there was one thing he missed.

The chicks.

Not that there had been many of them over the few years he had been old enough to appreciate that sort of thing, but girls tended to smile a bit more often at their dashing hero than they did at a skinny, speccy boy who had questionable taste in luncheon foods.

So now it was a Monday morning, he was horny and frustrated, and he was a bit convinced he was losing his mind.

"Seriously, Hermione, you don't smell that?"

Out of the side of her mouth, never taking her eyes off of the potions professor swooping around the chalkboard like a crow, the bushy haired girl said, "No I don't. Now shut up. I'm trying to listen."

Harry took a deep breath. Somewhere under the acrid chemical scent of the potions classroom was a lighter aroma that reminded him of summer. He closed his eyes and sniffed again, trying to find where the smell came from.

Turning, he tracked it, sweet and sharp, and when he opened his eyes he saw—

Draco Malfoy.

Staring at him.

Harry felt a hot rush over his face and tore his eyes away from the Slytherin.

The first day of classes after the summer Voldemort died Harry had been surrounded by professors and his fellow students, demanding to know exactly what happened. Draco Malfoy, the crowd parting before him, walked up to Harry giving him a twisted smile, and punched him lightly and almost affectionately, on the bicep. Then he turned and walked away, leaving Harry and his friends silent and gape-mouthed, staring after him.

Since then Draco hadn't gotten any friendlier, but there hadn't been any direct attacks or blatant insults, so Harry figured they were at peace.

Still, it seemed as though the scent was coming from Draco's direction. And if Harry thought about it, it made sense. The aroma seemed sharp, sour, but there was a sense of potential sweetness in it.

As the class came to close, Draco gathered his things together and left the room ahead of Harry, leaving behind him a faint smell of… lemons.

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**Note: **This is the first in a series. The goal is humor and romance. I hope you rev-- enjoy. I hope you enjoy.

The decision of whether or not to review is entirely up to you. Free will is a wonderful thing.

Seriously though, review. I command you.


	2. Lime

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters or this world. I'm just having a little fun.

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**Lime--**

Instead of waiting for the championship game, Gryffindor house had decided to celebrate after every game, win or lose, whether they played or not. So, Tuesday night, after the Hufflepuff/Slytherin match (the Slytherins stomped the Hufflepuff's to no one's surprise, though the 'Puffs managed a few good plays) loud and abrasive music throbbed out of the tower's common room. Over the summer Ron had discovered one more thing to appreciate about Muggles; body shots. So all of the Gryffindors and everyone else that made their way to the party were topless and shining with liquor and salt.

Harry himself was liberally covered in salt and lipstick marks, his own lips swollen and burning from the alcohol and arousal. More than a few of his fellow students had wandered off into dark corners to see where the routine of _drink, suck, lick_ might eventually lead.

A faint citrussy scent filled the warm room, and Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Draco didn't smell like lemons anymore, but something only a little bit sweeter. Harry had noticed that about three shots ago as the platinum blond head was pressed to his stomach, cool quick tongue flicking tequila out of his belly button.

Harry's hand had itched to be buried in the thick silky hair, but he restrained himself; in truth, barely supported himself against the arm of the couch as his knees were beginning to shudder and give out on him.

With a noisy slurp Draco finished the liquor, and then took a big bite out of the vivid yellow lemon wedge in his hand before licking heavy grains of salt off of Harry's collarbone. At that Harry's knees did give out and he sank to the floor leaning against the side of the couch.

The Slytherin leaned over and whispered something Harry couldn't make out over the thumping of his heart echoing with the bass coming from the speakers Hermione had charmed to work with the Wizarding wireless, and then the blond stood and walked, swaying slightly, out the door without looking back.

For the rest of the night Harry smelled something, but he couldn't place it until Ginny came by with a margarita and he had to push her away.

Draco smelled like limes.

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Note: So, it's a LIME, but not exactly. There will be a few more chapters of this, but I only have one and a half written, so expect my usual sporadic and unpredictable rate of update.

Still, reviews fill my soul…. Or some poetic bullshit like that.


	3. Orange

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. I do not own this world. I do not own any fruit. I do however have a candy bar, and I am not afraid to use it.

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**Orange —**

Wednesday morning the breakfast tables were long expanses of everything anyone could possibly want to start their day, from bacon and eggs to blood pudding, though Harry tried not to look at that. Students picked and chose among the delicacies, passing platters covered in sausages, bowls full of porridge, and baskets full of fluffy scones.

Tea pots and coffee pots and pitchers of pumpkin juice danced across the wooden surface, adding their own music to the raucous tune of children getting ready for school. Dumbledore said he got the idea from a movie, only six people laughed.

One of them was Draco Malfoy.

The worst of the hangover had been burned off by a potion that tasted of scorched marshmallows, and Harry pushed away the pitcher of pumpkin juice, searching for something a little sharper, to take the sticky sweet taste out of his mouth.

The tea pot was doing a jig just out of his reach and he didn't feel like fighting for the coffee, so he slumped back in his seat and looked around the Great Hall, waiting for his turn.

One of the benefits of attending a magical school meant they could party all night and look none the worse for wear the next day. They couldn't do it too often, since eventually the lack of sleep would catch up with them, but for the moment it was difficult to tell which students had spent half the night pouring alcohol over and into themselves and each other, and which had spent the night in virtuous sleep.

Harry smacked his lips, eying the bacon. His stomach was finally calm, and maybe the saltiness of it would cut the sugary taste of the potion.

He could smell something sweet, sharp and dense, not lemon or lime as he had smelt before on Draco, but he turned to the Slytherin table anyway.

Heads bowed in decorous conversation, they ate with perfect table manners, forks and knives held gracefully in clean, smooth-skinned fingers. Harry saw the sun shining off of Malfoy's hair and watched his long white fingers manipulate the shining silver flatware.

One pale hand reached for a tall glass full of orange liquid. Harry thought it was pumpkin juice, but the color seemed different, brighter, as though the sunshine was caught in it while it was held in that pale hand. The glass was raised to pink lips, as a paler pink tongue traced the swollen flesh, and Harry remembered that mouth on his skin.

The white throat moved once, twice, with the liquid, and Harry wanted to taste that rich pink flesh, share the juice that was running over that tongue.

At some unspoken cue the Slytherins rose and left their table, abandoning the platters still half-full of food, and the House Elves re-distributed them to the other tables. Harry watched the pitcher Draco's glass had been poured from hungrily as the House Elves carried it.

It was deposited directly in front of him, and disguising his haste with an excess of care that was probably even more obvious among the obstreperous Gryffindor mass, he poured a glass of the bright liquid and took a tentative sip.

And was met by the bland sweetness of pumpkin juice. It was the same pitcher, the exact same that Draco had poured his glass from, but that sense of sour/sharp/sweetness was missing.

Harry got up from the table, and walked in the direction the Slytherin had taken, smelling the dense aroma become stronger. As he approached the blond, standing outside the potion's classroom, the scent became stronger still, as if it was streaming off of Draco's pale white skin, his shining blond hair.

Oranges .

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**Note: **Well that's Oranges. Normally I like to be three chapters ahead of what I've posted, so if I hit a slump I can still update. It's a habit I learned from experience with "ANNIVERSARY" which once went a year without an update. I am only one chapter ahead of this fic, but I felt like splurging this week-end so I've posted there things so far, this chapter, the next chapter of "MY ANGEL" and a one shot called "HARRY NEEDS A MAKEOVER" that actually made my beta laugh out loud. I might have a few more one shots before I have to go back to work.

So, enjoy this story, check out the others.

I love reviews and I respond well to attention, much like a trained panda.


	4. Grapes

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. I still have some crackers though. Might go get a soda or something to wash them down. My life is very boring, isn't it?

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**Grape—**

Thursdays were probably Harry's favorite day of the week. Fridays were good of course, since they were the last day of classes before the week-end, but that usually meant that those classes would feel longer and be more difficult than any other day.

Thursdays however, were usually lovely with class after class falling like dominos until it was time to go to lunch, or dinner, or to practice.

The autumn air was crisp and bright, with shards of sunlight streaming across the high tree tops of the forbidden forest, tangling with the tentacle branches of the Whomping Willow.

Harry wanted to be outside; if for no other reason than that the fresh air might kill of his recent tendency towards alliteration.

The other students seemed restless as well. Harry saw them fidgeting idly in their seats as McGonagall droned on about tempests and tea cups and transmogrification.

There was a heavy, succulent smell in the air, sweet but difficult to place and Harry refused to look around. He knew Draco was somewhere in the room, but he didn't want to give in as he was about ninety percent sure that the Slytherin boy was smelling delicious on purpose in order to drive him insane.

It just smelled so… purple, and Harry couldn't place it any more clearly than that. He closed his eyes, trying to figure out what the aroma was, heady and full of some kind of potential.

"Mr. Potter, are you still with us?"

McGonagall's voice snapped Harry out of his daze and he opened his eyes to see his Head of House less than six inches from his face.

With a strangled shout he jumped, smacking his forehead into her nose, and then fell to the floor.

The other students jumped to their feet. Some ran to the Professor, guiding her, her hands pressed tightly to her face, to an empty seat, and others to Harry, to help him up and covertly offer either censure or congratulations.

His face feeling hot and red as a tomato, Harry got up, slapping away the more hindering than helping hands and walked over to the Professor. Hermione had pulled McGonagall's hands away and performed a basic examination, gesturing away the milling students who had gathered to see a Professor do something as everyday human as get injured.

"I'm so sorry-," Harry started, but McGonagall waved him off.

"No, no. I am fine, just a bit of a bump, nothing broken, nothing bleeding. However," the Professor went on, a steely glint appearing in her eyes, "I think a detention or two will teach you to pay attention."

Harry nodded in acquiescence, secretly relieved. Since Voldemort's death many of the Professors had become more lax in their discipline, but McGonagall and Snape had retained their reputations for being complete hard-asses while evening their scope among all four houses and not one or two.

"Yes, Potter. You do seem to be drifting off lately. That's not very safe," Draco drawled from a few feet away, where he had stood, hands in his robe pockets, watching the chaos.

Harry glared at the Slytherin.

"This is all your fault, Malfoy," Harry muttered half under his breath, "You smell too good."

At the sight of the fierce glare he was receiving, Draco laughed, an open free laugh that Harry rarely heard from the Slytherin. Then, hands still in his pockets, Draco walked out of the room past Harry, knocking their shoulders together as he walked.

"I'll get Pom to take a look at it, just in case," the Slytherin said as he exited the classroom.

Harry just stood, mouth agape. When they touched, Harry's nose, his mind, had been filled with that strangely… purple… scent.

Grapes.

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**Note: **Here we have another chapter. I have one more written and an idea for another. If there are any particular fruits you guys are interested in, let me know. As long as it isn't cherries. I have a plan for cherries.


	5. Apples

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters or this world. I do, however, own two apples, one green and one red. I would name them Draco and Harry, but I am going to eat them and it just seems a bit creepy.

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**Apples—**

There was something very crisp in the air on Friday morning, and Harry didn't feel like wasting the day trudging from classroom to classroom in the stuffy stone castle.

He'd done his homework the night before during detention, so he handed it to Hermione with a flash of the 'glistening eyes/trembling and pouty lips' combination that he'd found worked really well on her and begged her to turn it in for him and tell everyone he had a cold.

Harry knew Madame Pomphrey would be willing to help cover for him, so when Hermione agreed, he grinned and grabbed her in a quick one armed hug before throwing his invisibility cloak over his head and heading out to the Quidditch Pitch, broom in hand.

He thought he smelled something tangy-sweet in the halls but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. Harry didn't know what kind of spell Draco was using, but he wasn't in the mood for it today.

Bursting through one of the side doors out into the fresh air, Harry was immediately intoxicated with the freedom of it. Cloak still covering him and his broom he ran, laughing, from the castle to the Pitch.

When he got there he took off the cloak, shrinking it and storing it in his pocket, and let himself collapse on the jewel bright green grass. He stared up at the sky, then closed his eyes, picturing the tricks he would try up in the blue expanse.

"Sleeping, Potter?"

The drawling voice drew his attention, and then he noticed a cloud of that tangy scent. He opened is eyes slowly and saw the Slytherin blond haloed in sunlight standing over him.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

Harry growled.

"Now, now," the Slytherin said. "None of that. I know you don't mean to follow through."

Harry was confused, but he didn't feel like asking questions. Instead he got up, brushing some grass off of his bottom, and took to the sky, leaving the blond Slytherin on the ground behind him.

Still, though he left Draco on the ground, thoughts of the boy kept spinning through his mind and he looked down periodically to see if he left. But he hadn't. Draco had settled into the hollow Harry's body left in the grass and taken up his pastime of staring into the clouds.

When the Slytherin didn't move for a few minutes Harry flew a bit closer. This didn't bring any response, so he landed his broom and walked over. He tried to make noise moving through the lush grass, but the Slytherin just muttered and rolled over.

"You're asleep?"

Draco mumbled again, then snorted quietly.

"No, you're not asleep. This is a trap. Crabbe and Goyle are probably hiding somewhere in the…" Harry looked around for cover large enough to camouflage the large Slytherins, but didn't see any. Undaunted, he went on, "Well they're probably out here somewhere, wand in hand, ready to attack me."

Draco's brow creased, his nose wrinkling like a sleepy kitten, and slowly his eyes opened.

"Potter, what are you on about?"

"You. You were out here lying in wait to attack me."

The blond yawned and closed his eyes again, "I wasn't lying in wait, Potter. I was lying asleep. Go back to your Wronski Feint and leave me be."

Harry watched the Slytherin stretch back out in the grass, shifting slightly and making small groans of comfort and relief, and started to feel slightly uncomfortable, intrusive.

Then he got upset. After all, he was at the pitch first, he had bribed his best friend and the school medi-witch to get out of classes. Why should he have to do what Malfoy was telling him?

"Shove over, Malfoy. I'm going to lie down as well."

The blond snorted, but Harry saw a small smirk ghost around the edges of his mouth as the blond moved a few inches over.

Not in the mood to fight, Harry lay down, making himself comfortable in the sun-warmed grass and slowly drifting to sleep.

A chill in the air woke him up, and as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes he noticed that the sun was lower in the sky than it had been, and Malfoy was gone.

But the patch of flattened grass where he lay, where they both lay, smelled like apples.

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**Note: **And here is another chapter. I will eventually get to the other fruits people have suggested, but it may take a while because, as you can see, I am juggling plates right now.

Okay, review and tell me what you think and I'll see you next time with Pineapple.


	6. Pineapple

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters or this world. I am just having a little harmless fun. The not-so-harmless fun is in my other stories.

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**Pineapple**

The Slytherin/Ravenclaw game ended predictably. Slytherin had more points and caught the Snitch, but Ravenclaw won on a technicality.

From his seat in the stands Harry couldn't tell what they were arguing about down on the field but he saw Draco blushing slightly and felt a little smug. He had nothing to do with the Slytherin blond's discomfiture but he could enjoy it anyway.

That night Gryffindor Tower had their usual post-game party and this time, at the request of the winners, with a tropical theme. Charms had been cast to turn the wooden ceilings into a deep blue sky, and the sound of the ocean drifted through warm, flower scented air.

Soft white sand covered the floor, and the room was packed with bodies wrapped in floral-print fabric; the more skin on display, the merrier.

Harry shifted in his hammock, enjoying the gentle sway of the net and the light buzz he had humming through his veins. He hadn't seen Malfoy since the game as the Slytherin had declined an invitation to the party, so that was another reason for celebration.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, listening to the illusionary waves crashing against the conjured shore. He was on the verge of falling asleep when something heavy smacked against his hammock and sent him tumbling to the floor. The hammock was only a few feet in the air, so he wasn't hurt, but his mood had been broken and as he stood he rubbed his elbow, still stinging from impact.

"Sorry, Harry."

Harry opened his eyes to glare at the offending lummox. It was Ginny, leaning heavily on a gently swaying Michael Corner. Both of them were wearing the latest in nearly-naked beach fashion and grinning.

Part of Harry was tempted to hex them, or at least warn them that they were both carrying venereal diseases the other hadn't had yet, but he bit his tongue. There wasn't anything he could do to them that they wouldn't do to each other.

Ginny started giggling, and with the giggles came hiccups. "Hey Ha_hic_Harry, guess what? The Slyther_hic_Slytherins lost be--_hic_ because _hic_Malfoy is a vir_hic_gin."

The girl collapsed onto the floor in a sodden, giggling mess and Corner landed on top of her with his own case of the hiccups.

Harry's mouth dropped open. He could believe any number of things about the blond boy, but that was not on the list. He crouched down next to the couple, trying to get Ginny's attention, but the girl looked slightly green around the gills and Harry had been to enough of these parties to know that sometimes the giggling hiccups could turn into a projectile spew, so he conjured a bucket and a damp towel, left it within arms reach, and walked away.

Ron and Hermione were curled up on a beach blanket by the fire, toasting marshmallows on long sticks. Both of their mouths were ringed with the sticky white confection.

"Are marshmallows tropical," Harry asked as he settled down next to them.

Ron grinned, and Hermione said, "Not really. But they taste good and I don't think we're really aiming for authenticity right now."

Harry accepted a soft marshmallow from the skewer the bushy haired girl proffered, and popped it in his mouth.

After a few moments of silent chewing, Harry turned to his friends, waited for them to stop kissing and come up for air and told them what Ginny said.

Ron started snickering and Hermione got a thoughtful look on her face before asking the question that had been running through Harry's mind since he heard the rumor.

"How could being a virgin affect how he plays Quidditch?"

Her voice was musing, but steady. Harry heard Ron sniggering even harder at his girlfriend's serious tone.

"Ronald, knock it off," Hermione said softly, and to Harry's surprise the red head did, though his face was still flushed with laughter.

Harry stared into the fire and wondered out loud, "Could it have anything to do with riding a broom?" He ignored Ron's renewed bout of giggles and went on, "I don't think it does because Malfoy has been riding for years and he never had any problems before."

At this Ron snorted and began guffawing so hard he had to lean forward and grip his stomach. Hermione was shoved out of her comfortable spot leaning against her boyfriend and as Ron's laughter tapered off they began squabbling.

Harry wasn't in the mood to referee one of their fights so he got up and left, walking out of the Gryffindor common room entirely and into the cool air of the hallway. The Fat Lady was drowsing in her frame and she mumbled irritably as the door swung open, then quieted back down as it closed. Harry shivered and began to regret not changing his clothes, but it was too late now, so he untied the loose sarong around his hips and wrapped it around his shoulders, leaving his legs with nothing more than a pair of board shorts to protect them.

He could just barely hear the party inside and he knew it would be warmer in there but he felt… itchy, like he had to do something, or find something. His thoughts drifting he walked without intention, wandering down the long stone hallways of the castle until he found himself in the Owlery.

The birds were settled into their nests, hooting and muttering slightly. A dark shape sat in the window and as Harry moved closer he was trying to remember who had such a large owl, until it moved and a thin shaft of moonlight caught the ends of white-blond hair.

As Harry's eyes adjusted to the dim light he gasped at the sight of Draco Malfoy sitting in a pool of moonlight on the windowsill, a small grey owl in his hands.

The blond boy looked up and for a second Harry thought he saw him smile, before the usual sneer twisted his features again.

"You again, Potter? Are you following me?"

Harry shivered from a breeze that came in the open window, and maybe in part from the chill in Malfoy's gaze, cursing whatever impulse led him here.

"I didn't follow you. I was just out, walking."

The other boy released the bird, then stood up. Harry wrapped the cotton sarong even tighter around his body, but Malfoy walked right on by without saying another word.

As he passed Harry smelled something sharp and sour, but with a hidden sweetness, reminding him of the tropical party he left behind. His mouth watered.

Pineapple.

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**Note: **So there we are. This story is almost complete crack and each chapter is part of a cohesive whole inspired by different fruits. I'm mostly just writing this to entertain myself, but I know a lot of you guys enjoy it, so if anyone is interested the next chapter will be… PEACH. And there may be a little naughtiness, I haven't decided yet.

Please review.


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